Hi Friend,

Hanging out at different coffee shops these days…

very early, like 6-9am.

If your morning schedule allows

we can coordinate a Java infused rant


sip in silence together,

just you and me

and our spinning little heads.

With love,



She reaches out. They respond.  I don’t see it? I call your bluff.  There has never been question of her patience or her kindness until he was no longer the recipient of her attentions. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.



Interrupt me, please


Coffee shops allow a plug-in to the energy of community.

Deep chairs, wingback, ram-rod straight wooden seats make the reach out happen.

Lean over to scoop up your book and settle back, feet tucked underneath your folded hips and bent knees. A turn to the first page says, I’m not talking unless you see the cover of my book and cannot resist a comment or a sigh, a wanting for the share the feelings evoked when reading the same lines.

Prop yourself up, feet on the stool,  face to the fire. Rest your head against the cradle of the formal but worn fabric of one of the best seats in the house. Lean an ear to the material, gently begin to close the eyes before someone rustles bags or jackets nearby . The instinctual shimmy into the corner of the seat to start that peaceful doze is not interrupted so much as acknowledged, appreciated, approved by someone putting the same effort into settling into the matching wingback.

In the other side of the shop, the little tables are glowing, the backlight of screens and the vibration of cells tells everyone that things are happening in the world.  Privacy is a necessity but few feel an imposition from nods about the news, chats filled with How are you answered in white lies like Fine. Sitting up tall in the seats with a mug and a mind,  lets ideas and keys make a difference, somewhere, not there, but somewhere outside.

I’ve got a morning of java, an outlet, an eye.  I’m plugged in, I’m checked out, but in this place there’s no shame. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.



It’s how you hold the cup,

drink her in,

it’s the tasting – it’s the lips,

the steamy, creamy pour over the tongue,

the heat,

the satisfied swallow and the asking for more.


Java cheers. 

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web. With a nod to my friend over at DistantShipSmoke and his inspirational pour.


I woke early and rolled around in my half-full bed.

My hands are warming on a fresh cup of coffee.  Just holding the cup keeps my hands busy, steadies me. When there’s no one warm under the covers, one takes coffee to bed.

Without the java, my fingertips roam over my wrists and palms and knuckles, tenderly touching the dip between each finger where his hands were laced with mine. My thinking pauses, lingering and laughing at the antics of my own wanting, remembering the sweat on his shoulders and back, and my palms on the headboard in some crazy bracing yoga pose!

Without the steaming brew anchoring me to the present, I will repeatedly touch and follow the long line from ear to shoulder, find my fingers running through my own hair, silently pushing it off my forehead, tucking it behind my ear like his did when he wanted to see my face, the bend of my neck, the muscles of my back, as he looked down at me kneeling on the new sheets.

Dressing for work, physical memories are carved into my muscles. I walk shoulders back, hips thrust forward, my sore limbs and calves serve as witness to my evening workout. The pounding in my head spins the rhythms, tries to articulate the rhymes, sets a pace for those sweet sounds of encouragement,  notes the unintentional interruptions escaping from my throat when someplace inside releases those soft guttural accepting sounds.

The evening is crawling back through my mind, dragging distant proof to the surface, showing me how far away my body can take my mind.

I’m distracted; not seeing the road; my car finds itself parked between the assigned yellow lines.




She smiles about this waking up alone time, the slow stretch, the silent roll into the pillow to pull back the touch of the lover who left later than he planned and earlier than she preferred.




#for Reticent Mental Property